Marmite
by Inkstain
Summary: Harry. Draco. Marmite.


Note: There are two things my friend and I love more than pretty much anything else. Guess what they are.

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"Potter..." 

Draco's eyes flicked up to Harry's eyes, slightly hidden behind the glasses, then back down to the thing in his hands. He'd never wished Harry wore glasses less, because at that precise moment the sunlight coming through the slats of the Owlery was reflecting off the lenses, and Draco couldn't tell whether the smile playing on his wicked lips was wicked or not, without the little curling of the muscles around his left eye to tell him. 

"...What is that?"

"It's toast, Draco."

Draco slowwwly let one eyebrow ripple as he looked up again; no matter if he couldn't see Harry's eyes - even if he'd suddenly gone blind behind the glass Draco knew the speccy git would be able to _feel_ that movement. "That. is not. toast."

With a quick breath movement - rhetorical breath, obviously Draco didn't really take a little hitching breath when Harry tilted his dark head closer, it...was the smell... - Harry had moved the not!toast even closer.  "I think you'll find it is."

Giving up trying to glare through the glass - though Draco knew of course that with enough concentration even his slightest dour look could shatter glasses of pumpkin juice across the Great Hall and ruin scarlet quidditch robes - Draco looked down again. "Toast is commonly found in one of three shades. Butter yellow, jam red, or marmalade orange. THAT, is brown. Hence, not toast."

"What about brown bread?"

"Oh come on, how often do we eat brown bread? You know only the Hufflepuffs eat that stuff," Draco shot back, still frowning at the brown-ness.

"True...I heard Justin saying something about granules and brain food and-"

"-Then you passed out from boredom?" Draco looked up at that, waiting for the grin. It was just the smile again, though, and the windows showing only himself. 

"Actually then you pinched my arse on your way to Herbology, and Justin choked on his own tongue."

Draco gave his own grin. "Good times, good times."

"And anyway, what about lime marmalade? Then you'd have greenish toast."

Jerking his head backwards, whiteblonde hair flicking out past his ears with the movements like tiny moonlight arrows, Draco started at Harry. "LIME?!" he yelled. "Eurgh, what is wrong with you?!"

He shuddered once and shot the Gryffindor a warning look. "We do not speak of lime marmalade. You freak."

Possibly wicked smile now clearly amused, Harry held up his roughened hands and the (alleged) toast. "Ok, fine. No lime marmalade. We don't need that anyway. Not when we have _this_." 

He held it out to Draco again, who eyed it warily, the arrows in his eyes and of his hair drawing back as he crossed his arms and shifted slightly on one foot.

"And what would _this_-" he untucked a hand from under one lean bicep to flick long fingers towards the toast, "be, exactly?"

Harry looked at it, looked at Draco, grinned with satisfaction that gave Draco a little shiver of anoyance since it clearly said he _knew_ he had Draco's interest now, and spoke. "Marmite."

Draco rolled the word in his head the way Harry had across his pink tongue. "Don't know it. Obviously this is some obscure muggle thing, right?"

"Right." Harry crossed one arm across his stomach and rested one elbow, the white shirt bunched up over it, on top of the other bared forearm, holding the toast up.

Draco nodded. 

Paused a moment. 

Huffed a little.  "So? Why come running with it all the way up here - what's so special about it?"

Harry bit the thumb of the hand holding the toast up as he crossed the room to Draco, who shifted on his feet again in front of the large open window the owls used to fly in and out, hiding a smirk Draco found irritating but less so than he used to  - he could only assume the mind blowing sex had softened him to his annoyance's annoyances somewhat. Or, built up his resistance, since softened just didn't sound right in that context and why was it that he could only go a few minutes in Potter's presence without thinking of sex? 

God-damn smug sexy bastard, with his smooth forearms and the contrast of his beechlight fingers next to that marmite and oh, he wasn't biting his thumb anymore, he was taking it out of his mouth and pressing it in the spread and then sucking it back in again, and damn, damn that bastard, damn bastard bastard _bastard_ he slid it out with a pop and a little smile and lick of his bottom lip, and since now he was in better light Draco could see at last that his eyes were very definitely staring at him, minus the crinkle by the left eye meaning he wasn't being wicked but _with_ slightly lowered lids meaning he was teasing, and just before Draco's gaze flicked to that bottom lip, he decided that was better.

"It's kind of..." Harry sucked in the corner of his lip, white teeth against pink against the little bit of brown left in the corner on purpose, Draco was sure- "…spicy, and it spreads out over your tongue..." –then let go and there was a bounce-back of the lip into a little smile, and Draco could feel the staring on him but he was rather pre-occupied, thankyou- "…and warms your whole mouth..." – and then Harry was moving the hand with the toast back, now held between that glistening thumb and his forefingers, and his little finger was straight out, as though Harry had class; ha, really he'd picked that one up off Draco and oh, oh ohyes Draco is actually very glad they've spent enough secret meals together for that to have happened because Harry touches the finger to the marmite in the corner of his mouth, sliding it inside, licking it off and then smoothing the digit all the way along his lip, "-and you are left with this hot taste, like little quiet electricity or something. Like..." 

He takes Draco's head suddenly, cupping the back of it with his toast hand and it is a mark of Harry's skilled mouth that Draco isn't too worried about crumbs in his hair at this point, and moves his face and his slightly shiny lips that Draco is watching closer. "...Like you." 

Realising, Draco lifts his head. Harry's eyes look into his and he looks, and he sees; why the wonderful boy grinned and ducked behind the Daily Prophet yesterday's breakfast when Hedwig came with some package for him; why he heard Harry's size nines clattering up the stone steps before the door opened when Harry is usually a little more subtle about their breakfasts up here once a week; why he was smiling.

"And though it may be over far too soon," Harry murmurs, fingers stroking Draco's fine hair and his other hand curling round his waist, " though I might not get enough and though I lick and trace and swallow all that I can, and take it in and lose it," he moves his mouth very close to Draco's and breathes hotly- "-I remember the flavour on my lips and tongue all day." 

Draco swallows. And then he breathes, and something slides liquid down his throat and pools in his stomach. It's probably love, he thinks; he's kind of resigned himself to that one when it comes to The Boy Who Waved Toast in His Face And Somehow Made It Turn Out Beautiful. He gets it when Harry flicks a lopsided grin at him over the tables whenever he can, or brushes pale-ish fingers deftly over the back of Draco's paler hand when they pass in corridors underneath the cover of their stark black robes, or when Harry sneaks into the Slytherin showers and helps Draco untangle his hair after matches even though it means he gets teased for being the last out and one of the Weasleys has taken to calling him Hairy Prisser.

He wonders if that warmth is what marmite tastes like, then rolls his eyes at himself - mentally, because breaking eye contact is sort of impossible when Harry looks at him that way - for making _spread _a metaphor for love. Except...actually he can't really berate himself for that since he hasn't tried any yet, since Harry distracted him so much, so Draco leans forwards and kisses Harry before Harry can do it to him, like Draco knows he was planning to, because he might be a bit liquidy and weak right now but he's not a complete girl and Harry can't totally overpower him just by rabbiting on about spread. Spread which Draco can taste, when Harry's lips open and he pushes his tongue forward slightly to let Draco flick his own over it, and lingering behind his teeth and in the roof of his mouth.

Draco tastes and swallows and breathes hotly onto Harry's mouth, nipping his lip as punishment for the finger thing when he pulls away because that was just plain cheeky. Harry laughs, and his eyes are still closed so Draco lets his smile come out completely, only then he opens them in time to catch it and he pauses and smiles back. 

Draco thinks 'sod it', and lets him see it. 

Then he turns his smile to a grin and licks his lips.  "That was gorgeous," he sighs, and Harry visibly lights up. 

"Yeah?" He waggles the toast triumphantly, slipping a couple of fingers under the back of Draco's shirt.

"Yup." Draco lets him have a moment of glory, selfish also so that he can enjoy the touch on his spine, then pushes Harry away with one hand. "But, alas, not a good enough metaphor for me, since that-" he wipes his mouth and points an accusing finger at the toast, "was the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted in my life, and clearly I would _love _the taste of myself."

Harry just hits him on the nose with it. 

Backpedalling, Draco shrieks, glares, and tells Harry to get it off him - and with a wicked, wicked laugh Harry grabs his head, closes his mouth over the aristocratic nose, and sucks until Draco stops squealing.

It tastes better spread on creamy white Malfoy anyway.

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End file.
